The Song Remains the Same
by jojospn
Summary: MAJOR SPOILERS for 10x21, "Dark Dynasty". My take on the ending of the episode and the trailer for the next. Rated T for language


**The Song Remains the Same**

 **A/N: MAJOR SPOILERS for last night's episode, "Dark Dynasty". Be warned! Title taken from season five episode/Led Zeppelin song of the same name. I don't own** _ **Supernatural,**_ **or the song of the title, just borrowing. All rights reserved.**

He had hoped he wouldn't have to do this again.

Dean remembered that night, nearly a decade earlier, standing before yet another funeral pyre, watching as the flames snapped and danced in the night, greedy tendrils stretched above like bony fingers snapping from out of nowhere to snatch its prey. It had been on a night just like this, clear, with a few stars scattered across a velvet sky, the hint of a moon peeping from behind a wisp of cloud, when he and Sam had burned their father. Few words had been exchanged that night, other than Sam's queries as to what John Winchester had whispered in his ear before dying and Dean's curt response, signaling that the conversation was over. And so the brothers had stood there, eyes burning as they held back the tears neither wanted to shed before the other, watching as what was left of their father was reduced to ash.

Five years later, Bobby Singer had been the one to lie on that pyre, and a few years after that, Kevin. Year after bloody year, Dean had stood where he was now, sometimes drinking, praying that the burn of the alcohol down his throat would kill the pain of watching yet another loved one as the flames consumed him. Other times, it was a solemn event, the brothers standing in awkward silence until the last flame disappeared into the night. No words would be spoken, and when it was over, they'd disappear into the Impala, where Sam would diverge into research to kill the pain of loss, and Dean would once again turn to the bottle.

And now, here he was again, standing before yet another funeral pyre, this time for their good friend Charlie Bradbury. The feisty redhead had been like a sister to the Winchesters, a sentiment Sam had admitted to Dean that had been reciprocal. She had loved both brothers like the siblings she had never had, had done all in her power to protect him from the goddamn Mark. And she had paid the ultimate price for it. Was that not like a true Winchester, after all? Everyone they'd ever gotten close to: Jessica, Bobby, Kevin. Even Sam's former love interest Sarah, all had died, and died horribly, because of them. Dean had dealt with the intense guilt of losing a loved one before; when Kevin had died, because of _him,_ he'd gone nearly mad with grief and anger. The young prophet's blood had been on _his_ hands, despite the fact that the lethal blow had been from Gadreel's. And while, technically, one of the Stynes had been the one to murder Charlie, the hunter still felt that the young girl, the sister he had never known he had even wanted, let alone loved, had been responsible. If he'd not taken on that fucking Mark in the first place, none of this shit wouldn't have even happened.

And then there was Sam. His brother, for the first time in years, felt that he, too, was directly responsible for what had happened to the young hacker. If he'd not asked her to help in the first place, she would still be alive. Dean could read the guilt in Sam's eyes, clouding hazel irises like a shroud. A part of Dean, to be honest, was damn _glad_ that Sam felt guilty. Fuck, he had no business involving Charlie in this shit, especially after Dean had warned them not to mess with the _Book of the Damned._ And then an intense fury, one which terrified him as much, maybe even more, than his violent episodes, overcame him. Could he possibly feel anything remotely close to rage towards his brother? His Sammy, the one he had sworn to protect since infancy, the one he had held in his arms as he died, the one he had grieved even more than the young girl lying just over there, on that pyre? Dean closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down, _just calm the fuck down before_ _you do something you regret._ And when he opened them again, he felt calmer, could see the agonizing grief Sam was trying so hard to control. The man was hurting as much, maybe even more, than he was, could see it in the brightness in his moisture filled eyes, in the biting of his lower lip as he tried to hold back the onslaught of tears, in the way his shoulders were shaking slightly, and the winces when a sudden pop from the burning corpse startled him.

He had to say something. To let Sam know, somehow, that this really wasn't his fault, despite the fact that not two minutes earlier, he had been about to blame him regardless. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sam just shook his head. "Don't," he said simply, and Dean nodded. Now was not the time. Hell, there probably wouldn't be a good time. And so the brothers simply stood in the darkness, waiting until at last the fire died and the remains of Charlie Bradbury were nothing but dust. And, as always, the boys returned to the Impala and headed back to the bunker, where Dean knew that an unopened bottle of Jim Beam was waiting.


End file.
